Number Fifteen
by Ienyu
Summary: He's just a collage student trying to earn a little extra as an assistant in a mental institute, so how'd he end up agasint a wall and gasping for air as a psycotic albino heatedly made out with him? AU ShiroxIchi


Number Fifteen

A/N: Terminology time! An orderly is a term used for assistants who would aid nurses in caring for patients in duties such as transporting and holding down combative personnel.

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Throughout the foyers, loud hacks, moans, yells, and other various noises that couldn't even be categorized were as common as the sweet symphony of birds in a Disney movie. After all, this was Las Noches: Ward for the criminally and mentally insane.

Somewhere in the maze-like institution, a lone orange-haired worker strenuously pushed a partly rusted, and now incessantly squeaking, medicine cart down yet another dimly-lit hallway that smelled of soggy corn flakes.

Stopping at a room with an engraving of '210' into its steel door, he halted his cart and knelt down next to it, plucking out a small green bottle labeled 'Laxatives'. Unscrewing the cap and tapping the mouth against his palm, three small off-white tablets came tumbling out. Screwing the cap back on, he meticulously placed the container back in its precise location and got to work crushing the talc-like pills into a fine powder before dusting it into a cup of applesauce. (The particular resident had complained of problems he had passing a number two previously that week however could not swallow pills as it 'went against his religion'.)

Ichigo eyed the now suddenly unappetizing cup of mashed fruit in his hand and quickly handed it off to Number Two-ten, who sniffed the lumpy mash curiously, practically shoving his nose into the fruit as he did so.

Ichigo sighed. "Come on, it will help with your 'toilet troubles'."

The man eyed him contemplatively before tentatively lapping the puree like a dog.

Honestly, Ichigo couldn't have cared less about this man's trouble on the toilet, but hey. At least this was an easy job that helped put food on the table. Plus, the job did have its positives. Some of the patients, as he had come to know, were actually quite friendly in lieu of their extremely unorthodox ways. Take Number Eight-twenty, Orihime Inoue, for an example. She's was a ditzy but a very nice girl despite her tendency to talk with and through food. Now normally, a case that small wouldn't have been a big enough issue for her to be sent here, however while on a trip she had gotten into a scuffle with another traveler's sandwich, landing both her and the bystander in the hospital. On the other hand, some of the patients were completely unbearable and often caused the young orderly to question why exactly he worked in such a horrible place. Regrettably he had to deal with many of such people; however his prime source of vexation was Nnoitra Jiruga. He was disturbing, has an overpowering hatred of women, often used his inhumanly long tongue to lick him when he would have to hold the other down, and at one point in time had the gall to shoot the warden, Aizen Sousuke, in the head with a slingshot he made from bendy straws, the elastic of his underwear, and an old meatball he had saved.

And guess who was placed as the scapegoat for 'not assuring all possible weapons were out of reach'.

It was unfair, but hey; his boss was unfair. While everyone else slaved like animals, Aizen sat all day in his office drinking tea and doing god knows what, eyes closed to the daily strife that arose from understaffing- which he claimed was necessary if there were to be no cuts in budget and pay. Blatant lies on his part, especially if one were to see the luxury of his 'private suite'. Off-limits to almost everyone, solid mahogany shelves stood regally against the back wall. Leather chairs were placed in a tasteful formation to offer seating, though to whom Ichigo did not know, and a platinum name-plaque stood atop his eagle wood desk. The word 'modest' was not in this man's vocabulary. Whereas most of the time he was cooped up in that hoity-toity bureau of his, he occasionally did leave the confines of his office, always spelling trouble for the poor chump who was the reason for the ill-fated confrontation.

"Oh, good evening Kurosaki." The backhanded friendliness of the voice lined a more sadistic personality, and Ichigo apprehensively turned to face it.

Well speak of the devil.

"I haven't seen you in a while." The chestnut-haired man greeted, shoes hitting the linoleum in intimidating strides.

Ichigo fought a dark grimace. Yeah, not since you made me clean your entire office for the meatball incident you prick, he thought grimly.

"Y-yeah, it's nice to see you to Aizen, sir. Can I help you?" He replied with a saccharine smile between gritted teeth. Great, what the hell did he do wrong now.

"Actually, yes, I came to ask for a bit of assistance." The other leaned in close enough to the ocher-eyed attendant so that his breath, thick with the scent of spice, ghosted over his face. "This is not openly disclosed information, so listen closely. A nurse could not come in this morning and no replacements could be found. Normally this would be no problem, but she deals with a particular inmate. He is Number Fifteen."

"Okay, but-"He was silenced by a lithe finger to his lips. Ichigo made a mental note to scrub his mouth with Listerine.

"Now Kurosaki, I hold you in quite high regard. What I want you to do is sate the shoes of Matsumoto in regard to the examination she was to give Number Fifteen this evening. Can I trust you?"

He looked at the other questionably. "I…wasn't aware we had a Number Fifteen."

"Yes, yes. Many don't. He would be a subject of great concern if too many people knew who he was, so we keep his existence clandestine."

The orderly thought for a moment before nodding. "Alright… I'll do it."

Pulling away, Aizen grinned contently. "Excellent. However, I do warn. Number Fifteen can be quite the handful. Remain vigilant at all times."

"O-okay…"

After a brief swap of records, the warden turned to leave, briefly pausing mid-step ("Oh yes. And if you find yourself with any trouble, do not hesitate in paying me a visit.") before disappearing down the corridor.

Ichigo frowned, shoving the papers handed to him into his pocket. Yeah, like he'd do that any time soon. The task seemed simple enough; an eye check, blood pressure and temperature. No big deal.

Reclaiming grasp on the cold handles of the cart, he gradually pushed his way deeper into the facility. As he did so, he soon came to notice the ever decreasing amount of light and increasing aura of discomfort the area gave off. Because each inmate was given a rank based on their threat level, only high ranked personnel had the 'pleasure' to work with numbers under two-hundred. Such numbers included people who were particularly troublesome and often had violent inclinations. Peculiarly, rather than the sheer chaos he had expected the number patients under two-hundred would be in, the halls were eerily silent.

Occasionally he would hear gossip from workers who operated in said area about their clients. One orderly, a man with long red hair and face tattoos, had been talking to the doctor he worked with about one particular incident they had been involved in.

"It's ridiculous, Kuchiki-taicho. No matter how hard I held him down, he just kept breaking the needle." The assistant slumped over the table exasperatedly.

"Or perhaps you were simply not holding him down as hard as you imagined."

"What? No way! Anyways, so now Kira's mad that Number One- twenty managed to grab one of the needle fragments and stab him with it. Of course Hinamori took his side, but what about me? That bastard kept slamming my head into the floor; I could have been done in. Damn, it was a good thing you had a K-gun with you."

"If you had been more vigilant you wouldn't have had to be in such a situation."

"True, but goddam, didn't think he'd require three rounds before knocking out."

At the time, Ichigo had just been passing by, but had just caught the blunt of the conversation. Aghast, he leaned against the wall in bewilderment. K-gun? K as in ketamine? They had to use an animal tranquilizer just to detain someone, and three shots of it at that? At that point in time, he had made a solid oath never to accept any promotions or volunteer in any such way what would involve him with those under two-hundred.

So then, what was he doing in the place he had sworn to never venture? Solid oath? If solid was another term for flimsy then yes. Just finish and leave, just finish and leave. Ichigo repeated this in his head like a protective mantra.

For reasons unknown to him, the further down he went, the flimsier the holding cells seemed to appear. No longer was there a solid concrete wall that divided his world from those on the over side, only walls of supposedly police-grade glass and a few reinforced bars. Suddenly he missed the homely stench of drenched breakfast foods as the pungent aroma of ammonia became almost horribly unbearable.

Rolling along, he was oddly thrilled to see the dull glow of the number fifteen a few cells down. He also was quite appreciative for the sudden increase of security measures the encasements Numbers Twenty to Ten had taken; thick steel doors that vaguely resembled those of bank vaults with a single vertical window that allowed vision inside. As he passed Number Nineteen, he jumped back in in terror as Number Seventeen across the hall suddenly slammed into the door, face pressed against the glass as he stared out.

Swearing, he clutched at his racing heart and looked away. It was alright, they were in there and he was out here. It wasn't like they were escaping any time soon. It was alright. Just finish and leave, finish and leave. Finish and- oh fuck this. He was a man god dammit, and no matter how many red flags were waving in his mind, no fucking inanimate object was going to tell him what to do. He'll finish this to the end!

Pulling out the paper he had previously crumpled in his pocket, he examined the code briefly and punched in the first few digits. His eyes constantly switching between paper and the dial pad, he ended up entering in a fairly complicated code that had an annoyingly large amount of fours and nines. Frigging Aizen and his frigging inability to print legible numbers that did not look like each other.

With a confirming beep, the doors inner lock mechanisms whizzed open and the door dramatically pushed inward and out. Upon entering, he blinked uncomfortably at the brightness of the room in comparison to the darker corridors. As he stepped forward, he was childishly surprised that his foot slightly sank into padded flooring as he did so. Such white padding covered the entirety of the floor, up the walls, and even the ceiling. It was like a bounce house. Except less bouncy, and for adults. Psychotic adults. In the far corner, obviously not enjoying the white world as much as Ichigo had been, sat an extremely pale skinned male. It could have been the lights, but the brightness seemed to have given him the appearance of being bleached; both his skin and hair a milky white.

Ichigo tensed, suddenly remembering Aizen's words. However something seemed wrong. Compared to the frightening disposition Number Seventeen had, Fifteen's seemed… meeker. Maybe Aizen needed to get those glasses of his checked. However, he did not completely drop his guard as he warily approached the man who dwelled in this pillow-like sanctuary.

First that was on the list; eyes.

"Do you need something?" Fifteen asked unenthusiastically, lifting his head sluggishly from his folded arms.

"Erm? What the…who the fuck are you?"

"I-"

"What happened to bitch-tit? She take my advice and jump into a wood chipper yet?" He asked, saffron eyes flashing at the orderly. The fierce glow of gold surrounded by murky black surprised the attendant. It was exotic, feral. They were different from the other Numbers who have had long lost their luster, regarding out of orbs of stone.

"No…No she was unable to come, so I'm here to preform her duties. For today, I mean."

The albino raked his eyes over the new assistant in front of him. Open disposition, uneasy aura. This kid was a novice, probably only used to working with the Three-hundreds. Now however… he ran his tongue over the inside of his bottom lip. The little orderly was a rodent who wandered into the lion's den.

"And to whom do I owe this pleasure?" He droned, locking contact with the rodent's eyes of tea. He suppressed a chuckle as the other tried to discreetly avoid eye contact, skin bristling with uneasiness.

Ichigo desperately dissected consequences to giving the other his name and reasons not to, but none could come to him and reluctantly he told the Number.

"You seem tense…Ichigo." The alabaster male spoke the name slowly, testing the taste on his tongue. " I'll be on my best behavior for you, boy scouts honor."


End file.
